


The Man at the Hospital

by Denizen_of_Dreamland



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, No Dialogue, Out of Context Spoilers, Present Tense, Reminiscing, Sad and Sweet, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Denizen_of_Dreamland/pseuds/Denizen_of_Dreamland
Summary: Sometimes, Rumi finds herself wondering about the kind man she met at the hospital.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	The Man at the Hospital

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this for prompt 4 of the [Takuto Maruki Theme Week](https://hellsonlyrose.tumblr.com/post/618542263531945984/takuto-maruki-theme-week), and I really thought it’d be done in time. Well, that was about three weeks ago, but better late than never, right? Let me know what you think :)
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://denizen-of-dreamland.tumblr.com)

Sometimes, Rumi finds herself wondering about the kind man she met at the hospital.

It’s one of those thoughts in the back of her brain that just happen to resurface from time to time. It’s a random thought, one with no beginning or end, and she knows that, if she were to tell anyone about it, they wouldn’t understand why she’s so interested in a guy that she only met once, by chance. Still, she can’t help but wonder about him, almost on a regular basis, while she’s doing her chores, taking a stroll around town, or simply daydreaming.

The impression he made wasn’t easy to forget. That kind stranger, who didn’t owe her anything, had stood by her side when everyone she cared about was far away, back at her hometown. He gave her encouragement and support at a time when she needed them more than she let on.

In a strange, whimsical way, his presence was soothing instead of invasive, like he was an angel who’d been sent to look after her while she fully recovered. They had talked for a while, shared a bit of their unique struggles, and then parted ways, knowing full well that they would never see each other again. 

He seemed very troubled…

Sometimes, Rumi wonders what the kind man looked like. She has an image in her head--dark hair and dark eyes, she thinks, though she wouldn’t be able to place the exact color on a palette--but she can’t tell if the face she visualizes truly belongs to the man she saw. She wishes she could remember more clearly, but her memories from that day are really foggy. She was dazed from her surgery, after all, and it  _ has _ been a couple of years since then, so it’s honestly a surprise that she remembers anything at all.

What she does know for sure is that he had glasses and fluffy hair. A nice smile, too. She doesn’t know what it looked like, but she does remember marveling at what a sincere and compassionate smile it was. A part of her wants to see it again and find out what was in that smile that made it so comforting to her at the time, but another part of her just wants to leave it up to imagination. The air of mystery adds to the appeal. It adds a sense of childlike wonder that it wouldn’t have if she had a picture of him in her hands.

She thinks that, if she saw him again, she would recognize him. Maybe she wouldn’t.

Sometimes, Rumi wonders where the kind man is and what he is doing at the moment. The idea that she crossed paths with a person who’s now living a completely separate life, with no way to contact him again, is almost outlandish. He waltzed out of her life just as quickly as he had waltzed in, without telling her so much as his name, and, even though she was interested in getting to know him, it was simply not meant to be.

That’s how it must be like to live in a big city. Walking past strangers everyday, unaware of their unique struggles, feelings, and personalities, and wondering how different your life would be if only you had talked to this person or that person, until you become numb to the bustle of the crowd… It’s not an environment that she’s used to. In her small town, she sees the same people in the same places at the same hour almost every single day. There’s virtually no chance of someone disappearing and cutting all contact with her like the kind man did.

He and Rumi must see the world in vastly different ways. She wonders… What does the world look like from his perspective?

What does  _ she _ look like from his perspective? Does he ever stop what he’s doing, just like she does, to wonder where is she and what is she up to? Or she just another face shuffling through the crowd like the thousands of strangers that he passes by in his day-to-day life?

Sometimes, Rumi wonders if the kind man remembers her, like how she remembers him. She quickly discards the idea every single time. There’s no way that a random stranger, no matter how caring, gave their meeting nearly as much importance as she did. She was the one who had just undergone surgery. She was the one who needed his reassurance, not the other way around. He had been searching for someone else. Someone who wasn’t her.

They only met due to sheer coincidence, and he probably wiped their encounter out of his mind as soon as he walked out of her room. She should’ve done the same.

Still, against all reason, Rumi finds herself fantasizing about what it would be like to meet the kind man again. How would he react to her? What would he say if he saw how far she’s come, how much she’s recovered, and how she has changed her life for the better?

She tries to picture conversations in her head. Different ways in which a reunion could go. She comes up with questions she’d love to ask him, about what he’s up to, the things he enjoys, what his life in the city is like, and his career, his family, and his hobbies. She’s sure that he must be an interesting guy to talk to. 

If she ever meets him again and he happens to be in a dark place, she’ll help him, just like how he helped her in that lonely, barren hospital room, back when she needed someone to confide in. It’s a promise.

Sometimes, Rumi goes days, weeks, or entire months without thinking about the kind man. But then, she spots someone on the street who’s tall and has fluffy hair and she’s tempted to call out to him. She hears a weirdly familiar voice in her dreams and wakes up to memories that she doesn’t have. She walks past an eyewear store and wonders… would those glasses look well on him?

It’s a reflex, an instinct, an unprompted reaction. It’s as natural as breathing, as sporadic as shivering when cold, as satisfying as eating when she’s hungry. It’s a thought, bursting into the surface, gasping for air to avoid drowning in the sea of grayed out memories. It’s a dream, desperately clinging to her like a little child crying for attention and refusing to let go of her leg.

The rational part of her brain tells her that there’s no point in thinking about someone who can’t possibly remember her.

But, no matter how much time goes by, a part of her heart keeps fighting for its life. Trying to stay afloat. Begging her not to forget the happiness she experienced during those brief moments of talking to the man at the hospital.

Sometimes, Rumi wonders if the kind man truly exists.

He seemed very real when she talked to him at the hospital, or at least she thinks he did. But, these days, he’s nothing more than a fleeting thought, a flickering dream that scurries away every time she tries to hold onto it, like a playful bunny that refuses to be caught. He’s a ghost of her past that’s fading away, on the brink of disappearing, tucked behind boxes and boxes of newer, more relevant thoughts and memories that seem all the more palpable and real when compared to her memories of the kind stranger.

Maybe he was never real to begin with. This whole thing might actually be nothing more than a coping mechanism that she used to get through her surgeries. Similarly to how a neglected kid may make up an imaginary friend to soothe his loneliness, Rumi’s brain must’ve fabricated the kind man out of her wish for unconditional support.

That would explain why her mind wanders back to him when she has had a rough day and feels weak, helpless, and alone. Once, when she was crying, she even imagined that he was standing besides her, drawing calming circles on her back, and muttering encouraging words in that sweet, calming voice of his. But, that day, an unexplained wave of déjà vu left her feeling disoriented, so she has never done it again.

The more time passes, the more Rumi is convinced that the kind man is nothing more than a figment of her imagination, and the less she thinks of him.

Sometimes, Rumi wonders if her memories of the kind man originated from her fear of losing the people dearest to her. People who she can’t imagine living without. Her grandpa and her grandma, who became her parental figures when she had no other family to turn to. Her friends, her neighbors, her precious cat. Her loving boyfriend.

She can’t lose them. Any of them. She can’t bear--she wouldn’t be able to cope--with the idea of her loved ones being torn away from her. She needs them. She depends on them. They’re her whole life.

When she was more curious and naïve, she tried to understand what the kind man was going through. He’d lost her girlfriend, he’d said, and he was devastated. He hadn’t said it outright, but Rumi had seen the searing pain in his eyes, she had heard the solemnity in his voice, and she had noticed the subtle, almost imperceptible trembling of his hands on his lap. After he left the room, Rumi tried to slip into the kind man’s shoes. She pictured what it’d be like to have a boyfriend, love him, and lose him, and she thought she had done a decent job at it because it made her feel shattered inside. As if a part of her core was missing.

But she didn’t truly understand the full extent of his pain until she met her boyfriend and experienced love for the first time.

Now, she doesn’t try to put herself in the kind man’s shoes anymore. She doesn’t even want to imagine what it’d be like to lose her boyfriend. She can’t lose him. She just can’t see a life without the person she loves so much. He’s her support. He’s her light, her lifeline, her faithful partner, who’s always there to pick her up when she falls down. Without him by her side, she’d be lost, cold, and hopeless, like a child wandering in the darkness of a dangerous forest, covering his face with his tiny hands to convince himself that he can’t see the monsters lurking in the shadows, waiting to attack.

It must be near impossible to let go of someone you fell in love with. At least, Rumi knows that, if she were to lose her boyfriend, she would never be able to forget him, no matter how many years go by. She’s weak. She’s sure of it. If anything were to happen to him, she’d be caught up in an endless spiral of grief, unable to move on, letting the pain consume her until there’s nothing left of who she used to be. Trapped in an repeating nightmare. Chained down to her once-happy memories, cornered by her own feelings, with no way out.

For once, she’s glad that the kind man doesn’t exist. She doesn’t want anyone, especially not someone as compassionate and selfless as him, to be forced to go through that kind of pain. She wishes that she could tell him that it’s okay to move on. She wishes she could tell him that his girlfriend would want him to be happy, even if she’s not there.

She doesn’t want him to be lonely.

* * *

When her boyfriend gets on one knee and asks her to marry him, in a beautiful place, with a beautiful speech, and wearing a beautiful smile, Rumi remembers the kind man at the hospital one last time.


End file.
